“You’re not funny,” I call down to him, leaning over the railing.
“Plus, Hazel already made that joke,” Wright adds.
“Shut up you,” I say, glaring down at her because I refuse to admit that I have the same sense of humor as my stalker. ThenI lean over the railing again. “And you, get up here, preferably before Wright loses the use of her hands permanently.”
“Wait, is that a possibility?!”
“No, definitely not,” I say, though honestly, I have no idea.
The fire escape rattles as Flynn makes his way up, each step of his boots vibrating through the metal.
I fold my arms over myself to protect against the night chill and try not to think that I woke up this morning and chose stupidity, because for all I know Flynn is just as likely to send Wright tumbling to her death as he is to save her.
I keep a close eye on him as he crouches down and inspects the bit of metal Wright’s backpack is caught on.
“I’m not going to hurt her, Lilac,” Flynn murmurs, not looking up from what he’s doing. So I add mind reader as well as stalker to his list of undesirable traits in the hopes that will stop me noticing just how good he looks in a biker jacket.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
The moonlight bounces off the ridges of the black leather on his shoulders, and the granite line of Flynn’s pale jaw does things to my core as he turns to look up at me. “I take it this is Wright?”
My stomach drops. “No. No, no, no, no, no.” I don’t know why exactly that’s the moment I lose it, except that Flynn knowing Wright’s name takes his obsession to a new level and the realization that I’ve just brought a serial killer into my best friend’s life is too much to handle.
“Lilac…” Flynn stands up and I step back on instinct, holding up my hands.
“No. Can you just please turn the stalker mode off for like five minutes and help me get her down because I can’t do it by myself and I can’t call anyone else because she shouldn’t even be here in the first place and you are my only option and I need you to just not be who you are right now and help.”
Flynn mirrors me, holding up his hands. “Okay, okay.”
I hiccup on my next breath, and a tear tracks its way down my face, all of my emotions from the minute Flynn climbed in my bedroom window apparently choosing this super convenient moment to come pouring out.
“Hey,” Flynn’s voice is cashmere as he steps in towards me.
I try to turn away, but he cups my cheek in his palm and draws me back to him. His thumb brushes a tear, and he sighs into me as he rests his forehead on mine.
I should be scared of being this close to him, I should want him out of my personal space, and I definitely shouldn’t find his touch as calming as I do.
“I’m sorry, Lilac. I’m so fucking sorry.” The words play over his lips and my breath judders out of me. For one insane second I imagine what it would be like to feel those lips on mine. Would they be soft or firm? Or a searing heat that lights a fire in my core?
God, it’s been so long since I’ve been kissed. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been with other people since Tommy, but I’ve kept my kisses to myself. It was a line I drew because Tommy used to take my mouth by force, not liking when I turned away from him.
The reminder of how easily I fell for a man who did nothing but hurt me finally gives me the willpower to pull away from Flynn. I blink the blurriness out of my eyes and stare down at the asphalt below. “You’re not going to let me go, are you?” I murmur, low enough that Wright can’t hear.
Flynn’s silken voice curls around me. “Do you want me to?”
I look at him, the word “yes” on the tip of my tongue, but I think I must be broken because I don’t actually say it.
“Uh, not to interrupt or anything but getting manicures is one of my favorite things and I’d really love to still have the fingers to do that,” Wright calls from where she’s still hangingoff the fire escape, because I’m a terrible friend who is too caught up in her own serial killer drama to remember the whole reason I called Flynn in the first place.
Said serial killer takes out a pen knife and flicks it open. I have one second to panic before he holds it out to me.
“I’ll go down and lift her from below. When I say so, cut the strap and I’ll bring her down. Got it?”
My fingers curl around the smooth wooden handle of the pen knife. “Got it.”
He dips his head then hops down the stairs to the level below.
I peer over the edge, waiting until Flynn’s arms wrap around Wright’s thighs. He calls up to me and I crouch down, hooking the blade through the loop of the backpack and sawing back and forth until it snaps.
